


In Jerusalem Engines

by frausorge



Category: Empires, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, popoffacork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-31
Updated: 2008-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frausorge/pseuds/frausorge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon resettled his satchel on his shoulder and pressed his fingertips to the letter with Tom's new address inside his pocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Jerusalem Engines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae/gifts).



> Written for jae_w in the 2008 Bandom New Year's Story Swap (popoffacork). Many thanks to thissugarcane, uhmidont, and wearemany for awesome beta.

When Jon stepped off the train in Chicago he patted the side of the car with his palm, enjoying the smell of oil and the feel of the smooth steel. She was factory-built, not a fraction as beautiful as their own machine - his and Ryan's and Spencer's and Brendon's - but her engine was clearly sound, and she had carried him smoothly for the last leg of the trip from Nevada.

"Get your trunk, sir?" a porter said.

Jon smiled and shook his head. "Didn't bring one," he said. The porter's eyes slid off him to the next passenger. Jon resettled his satchel on his shoulder and pressed his fingertips to the letter with Tom's new address inside his pocket. He ignored the row of hansom cabs, with their horses snorting in the cold, and set out on foot to the street Tom had named.  
   


Tom's rooms, he found, were in a brick building little better than a tenement. The staircase and corridors were dark and had a smell that didn't invite lingering, but when Jon found the right door he stopped and drew a deep breath before knocking and standing back. After a long minute Tom's footsteps sounded from inside the room. Then the door was flung wide and Tom said, "Jon!" as his face burst into a smile.

"Tom," Jon said, feeling a grin stretch his own mouth. Tom looked different, Jon saw immediately - older somehow, his hair a little longer maybe, his cheeks a little thinner - but good. He looked good. "I've come a long way, are you going to let me in?"

"Absolutely," Tom said, but he didn't step away from the door. "Jon Walker, as I live and breathe. Why didn't you write and tell me you were coming, you old skinflint?"

"The letter would have come on the same train."

Tom laughed. "And you haven't built anything better yet?"

"Give us time," Jon said. "We're working on it."

Tom laughed again, loudly and freely, and that was another change from the months before Jon had left to join Ryan's crew. It was gorgeous to hear.

It didn't take long for Jon to see the place. "Sitting room, Sean's room, my room - leave your things there, you can bunk in with me," Tom said. And that was all. "Are you hungry? You must be, it's long past dinnertime."

"I am, a little," Jon conceded.

"Good," Tom said. "You can peel the potatoes."

"Haven't you built something better yet?" Jon said, and Tom rolled his eyes. But when Jon had the paring knife in his hand and Tom began banging fry pans onto the stove, Jon finally started to relax. Working alongside Tom, even if it was just in a kitchen, was still familiar and right.

While they ate Tom asked endless questions about the journey and the train and the amenities of the mining town where Ryan had set up shop. Jon answered in the same vein, until they had finished washing up and were standing opposite each other with empty hands. Then Tom lifted his eyes, and Jon bit his lip. Tom said, "So, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what brings you back to Chicago?"

"You, you cynical bastard."

Tom crooked up one corner of his mouth. "All right, you've found me. And?"

"And I need to go and see them at the academy," Jon admitted. Tom's mouth didn't shift, but something in his eyes did. "I know that when you left-"

"When they showed me the door."

Jon turned his palm up in acquiescence. "-it wasn't on good terms. But Ryan needs - _we_ need - a lapin gear. The next prototype depends on it. And they're still the only ones who've managed to import those."

"Well," Tom said, "they really never stopped liking you. You probably stand as good a chance as anyone of getting them to part with one."

"I hope so," Jon said. He hesitated before adding, "This doesn't mean I'm not still angry at them, though." But Tom was shaking his head before Jon finished speaking.

"Don't be angry. I'm not. It's a waste of strength, it's behind me. I've set my mind on what Sean and I are building now."

"Of course," Jon said. "How are things looking with it?"

Tom's face fell out of its resigned lines, mouth moving into a small but serene smile. "Why don't you come to the shop and see for yourself?"   
   


Tom and van Vleet's workshop was in the back half of an old, converted stable, smelling of the musty bales still heaped in the haymow overhead. Long drafting tables along one wall were spread with sketches and blueprints, the anvil stood at the opposite end of the room, and in the middle stood a workbench whose contents were covered with a length of canvas. It wasn't as spacious as the warehouse Ryan had for his crew, but it was tidily kept and obviously in constant use.

A kerosene lamp stood on the sill of the window nearest the door, but Tom walked past it into the center of the room and pulled a lever fixed on an upright beam. A clanking noise sounded from above, and a brighter, bluish-tinted light shone down on them. Jon smiled.

"Remember when we built our first engine in your father's lean-to?" he said.

Tom turned back towards Jon. "I remember you almost burned the place down." The strong light picked out Tom's features in sharp relief - hooded eyes, straight jaw, arch curve of mouth - and made his normally sandy hair look very fair.

"I, ah," Jon said. He looked away, towards the crates stacked under the drafting tables. "That, that wasn't because of the engine, though. That was just from being careless when we were smoking."

"Halcyon days," Tom said. "Come here, let me show you the design."

The plan looked solid to Jon. No longer childish like his and Tom's earliest efforts together, not extravagantly ambitious like some of Ryan's, but cleverly fitted together. He followed the path of the gears with his eyes, hands twitching with the urge to pick up a wrench, and nodded when he reached the end. "It looks good," he said. "It's graceful - elegant. I don't see any reason why it shouldn't work."

Tom's answer was a broad smile. Jon couldn't do anything else but smile back.

"You look so..." he said.

"So, what?" Tom said.

_So free_, Jon thought, _so independent_. "So happy," he said. "I've never seen you like this."

"I guess I am pretty happy, at that," Tom said. "What then?"

"Then I'm glad," Jon said. Tom nodded.  
   


They stayed at the workshop till suppertime, looking through the parts Tom had started to collect for his prototype. Then they returned to Tom's rooms for yet more discussion of the plans over bread and cheese and beer. When they were both yawning, Tom stood up and carried the lamp into his bedroom, where he held the blankets up for Jon to get in just as he had every other time they'd shared. Jon tugged a pillow under his neck, and before long Tom's steady breathing began rising in the familiar rhythm next to him. Jon lay awake listening till the clock in the other room struck two.  
   


"I should go to the academy today," Jon said over coffee in the morning.

"Right, of course," Tom said. "You'll excuse me for not going with you, though."

Jon curled one side of his mouth up. "I suppose I might."

There was no streetcar going in the direction of the academy from where Tom lived, so Jon crossed the city on foot again. It felt good to stretch his legs more thoroughly after the long journey. The air outdoors was brisk, and the sun was very bright.

The academy hadn't changed at all on the outside, still nondescript in its tawny bricks, narrow windows, and wooden outer door. Jon stepped into the vestibule, took the stylus from its ledge above the frame, and scratched out his name on the signature panel just as he used to. The man who appeared through a door halfway down the corridor was a complete stranger to Jon, however, and his accent when he spoke was stranger still.

"Jonathan Walker! It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Walker. I've heard a great many stories about you."

"Thank you. But I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, then," Jon said.

"My name is Chislett. I've been here a year, maybe."

It fitted with Tom's departure. Jon nodded.

"But I expect you're here to see Carden and Beckett, right? They're preparing in the lecture room this morning. Please come with me."

The room was just as dusty in the sunlight as Jon remembered. Beckett stood on one side of the front desk and Carden on the other, with identical folded arms and polite expressions.

"Walker, good to see you again," Beckett said. "And how is Ross doing?"

"He's fine," Jon said, "they're all fine. How about you? How are you?"

"We're very well," Beckett said.

"That's good to hear," Jon said.

Beckett rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing you didn't come just to say hello, though."

That was a bit more abrupt than Jon had hoped for, but it was true, after all. "You're right," he said. "I am here on business. To make matters brief, there's a part we'd like to use that's not convenient to buy in Nevada. A lapin gear, as a matter of fact. We were hoping to trade with you for one."

"A lapin gear," Beckett said, narrowing his eyes. "And what is Ross going to- ? Well, never mind. You're in luck, as it happens. We're expecting a shipment to come in from Lyon very shortly. We might have something for you next week, if you don't mind waiting till then."

"Not at all," Jon said. "We would be very grateful."

"I have to warn you, though, that it costs us a good deal both in cash and in effort to obtain these gears. Unfortunately we can't afford to let them go for less than quite a substantial price. You'll understand, I'm sure."

"I've brought a payment," Jon said. "I think you'll be satisfied with it."

Carden and Beckett both looked exquisitely bored.

Jon went to his satchel and took the first envelope Ryan had sent with him out of the book in which he had laid it for protection.

"See if this will do," he said.

Beckett opened the envelope and drew out the single sheet of paper, yellowed and brittle and covered in dense writing. He held it gingerly by the edges, bringing it toward the windows to study it and turning it to read the crossed lines.

"This is Ross's payment?" he said.

"Yes. That is, the first page of it," Jon said.

Beckett held the paper out to Carden, who looked closely at the handwriting and nodded.

"Very well," Beckett said. "We accept."

"Excellent," Jon said.

"Come by again in a few days," Beckett said. "Butcher will be able to let you know if the shipment has arrived."

"I surely will," Jon said.  
   


"How did things go in the lions' den?" Tom said. He had pushed his goggles up on top of his head, and locks of his hair were curling around the straps on either side.

"Not too badly," Jon said. "They gave me a pretty friendly welcome, all things considered, and we've agreed to a trade in principle. I have to wait for the next shipment to come in, though."

"Sounds promising," Tom said.

Jon nodded. "It means I'll need a place to stay till then."

"As if you needed to ask," Tom said. "Don't think I won't put you to work, though. Time for some honest technician muscle again - no more lolling about with little chisels and pretty designs."

"Give me a hammer and I'll show you some muscle," Jon said. Then he felt his face go warm.

Tom raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, only grinned and handed him another pair of goggles.  
   


"By the way, am I ever going to get to meet van Vleet?" Jon said that night while he was pulling off his boots.

"Depends how long you stay," Tom said. "He's gone back east on a visit to his family."

"Oh," Jon said. He set his left boot down next to the right, paused, and nudged them both over against the wall. "Then - should I take his room? While he's away?"

Tom turned around to look at Jon. "No," he said lightly. "Don't we always share? It's too cold to sleep alone."

Jon made himself chuckle. "Right."  
   


"Jon Walker!" Butcher said. "I heard you were back in town."

"Just for a visit," Jon said. "It's good to see you, Butcher."

"Likewise. And Siska's been clamoring for news of you. Siska!" Butcher bellowed into the adjoining room. "Walker's here! Come and ask him all your questions, so you can stop bothering me."

"Walker!" Siska said, bursting through the doorway. "You haven't died in a mine collapse yet!"

"Well, we don't often go down into the mines ourselves," Jon said. He held out his hand, and Siska squeezed it tightly.

"But how is your new prototype coming along? Is Ross still adding more wild ideas? Do you like working with him and Smith and Urie, or do they make you crazy all the time? Is there any decent food out there on the frontier? Have you found any other machine crews? Do you think any of the townspeople suspect anything?"

"Whoa," Jon said, holding up a hand, "one question at a time."

Siska grinned and sat down on top of a desk. "How's your machine?" he said. Jon sat down too and began talking.

"So, anyway," Jon said several minutes later. "Beckett told me to check with you..." But Butcher was already shaking his head.

"I'm afraid I don't have news for you yet. The package hasn't come in. Why don't you come back next week and check again?"

"All right," Jon said.  
   


"Sorry, Walker," Butcher said. "Still nothing."  
   


"...Most likely next week."  
   


It wasn't a hardship, though, to keep staying with Tom and doing whatever odd jobs were needed in the workshop. A few times other machinists slipped in discreetly to do a little work, engineers or smiths whom Tom and van Vleet were considering for their crew, but Tom wouldn't actually add anyone till van Vleet returned, so most of the time he and Jon had the place to themselves. In the afternoons even the farthest corners of the room grew warm from the fire, and the almighty racket Tom made trying to hammer out parts on the anvil did nothing to dispel the pervasive sense of peace.   
   


"How are your boys doing?" Tom said while they had paused to make some coffee. "Not just the work, I mean - tell me how they are, themselves."

"I'll do better than that," Jon said. "I'll show you." He pulled out the envelope of lunotypes and spread them on the table. There were pictures of each of them - Ryan in the soft cap he insisted on wearing, his face half blackened with smudges and whorls of soot; Brendon dapper in the cravat and top hat he put on to go into town; Spencer bareheaded, hair hanging in his eyes, pounding at his anvil.

"You really miss them," Tom said.

"Yes," Jon said.

"Which one do you miss most?"

"What?" Jon said. He glanced down at the pictures, at the group take showing them all four with their arms around each other's shoulders, and then back at Tom. "I don't - I miss them all."

"No, that's good," Tom said. "They're your crew, of course, that's good." He smiled and touched Jon's arm. "How'd you print these pictures? I remember your experiments with paper treatments - was this an argentide solution?"  
   


"I wish I'd been here when everything happened," Jon said aloud one night. Tom had blown out the lamp several minutes earlier, but Jon knew he was still awake.

Tom didn't answer immediately. Then Jon heard him breathe out a sigh. "What could you have done, Jon?" Tom said quietly. "Could you have reconciled us?"

"No," Jon said. "No - I'm not saying that. But I could have..." He swallowed. "I could have helped with finding you new lodgings, bringing you your tools, getting you stinking drunk. I could have helped."

"Jon," Tom said, even more quietly.

The sheets rustled, and Jon felt Tom's hand brush lightly over his hair, from the top of his head down to his cheekbone.

"You're a good friend," Tom said. Then he turned over on his side, away from Jon, and Jon knew that the subject was closed.  
   


They knocked off work early one afternoon after riveting the last shell plates onto the first chamber of the machine.

"We need a holiday," Tom said. "Let's go out to the lake."

They rode a streetcar as far as it would take them, then walked the rest of the way to the shore in the already fading light. There were a few crusts of ice in the shallows, but farther out the water was choppy, whipped by the wind and reddened by the sunset.

"I missed this," Jon said.

Tom nodded. Jon moved a few steps closer to the water, and Tom followed, hooking his chin over Jon's shoulder when Jon stood still. The warmth of Tom's body felt good at Jon's back.

When the last of the sunlight was gone, Tom said, "Hungry?" into Jon's ear.

"Yes," Jon said, realizing it as he spoke. It was closer to suppertime than he'd thought. They turned reluctantly from the lake, and Tom led the way to a workers' mess, where they squeezed in at a long trestle table and ate large bowls of stew sopped up with bread. Their shoulders, knees, and thighs pressed together on the bench. Jon had been thoroughly chilled, especially his feet and his hands, but he grew warm again quickly.

The streetcar back was quiet, nearly empty, and they didn't speak much during the ride. When they reached Tom's rooms, Tom unlocked the door and stood aside to let Jon in first. Once inside, Tom set the bolt, then turned around to lean against the door.

Jon said, "Tom," and Tom smiled a little in the moonlight falling through the window, that smile that was so familiar and new all at once. Jon felt a powerful wish to be closer to it. He stepped forward and kissed Tom.

Tom's lips were softer than Jon had thought, and he brought his hands up immediately to cup Jon's face. Jon had thought Tom might be surprised, and he kept meaning to draw back and say something, to explain himself. But Tom held him there, mouths parting only to return, without any sign of having questions. So Jon kissed Tom again, and again, till he was feeling more than thinking and forgot to pull away.

He slid his hand inside Tom's coat, against the scratchy wool of Tom's vest, then under the vest and shirt to the smooth skin along Tom's ribs. Tom hitched out a gasp, and Jon pushed forward, pressing his knee between Tom's thighs. He could feel Tom's cock hard against his belly, and his own cock bumping Tom's hip, a new flare of heat every time they shifted against each other. Tom's fingers curled tightly over the nape of Jon's neck, and his tongue forced Jon's lips open wide.

That gave Jon a different idea, and he tilted his head to the side until Tom's hands loosened and Jon could drop down, down, anchoring himself by his grasp on Tom's hips, till his knees hit the floor. He pressed his cheek against the front of Tom's trousers, breathing in, then opened them and pulled Tom's dick free.

"Jon-" Tom said in a tight voice, as if he were trying to restrain himself. Jon wrapped his fingers around the base and moved his mouth down as far over the head as he could.

Tom's voice dissolved into wordless breaths and groans. Jon glanced up and saw Tom's head thrown back against the door, his mouth gorgeously slack and his eyes fluttering closed. Jon bent down again with fresh energy. A moment later he felt Tom's hand once more curving around to cup the back of his head.

Before much longer Tom's breathing changed again, and he came in three or four pistoning thrusts, his fingers tightening painfully in Jon's hair. Jon swallowed as best he could and sat back on his heels when Tom finally let go.

He looked up to Tom's face, wiping at his chin with his fingers, and found Tom watching him with an expression at once blissful and disbelieving.

"What?" Jon said, frowning.

"You," Tom said.

Jon said nothing, still uncertain of his ground.

"Let's go to bed," Tom said. He reached a hand down, and Jon took it and let Tom pull him to his feet.

In the bedroom Tom shrugged off his coat and threw it over a chair. "Take those off," he said, waving at Jon's clothes, and began unbuttoning his own vest and shirt.

By the time Jon finished undressing, Tom was lying in bed, holding the blankets up for him. For a moment Jon felt very strange. Then the chill of the air shut down any further hesitation he might have had, and he got into the bed and lay down on his side, facing Tom.

Tom put out a hand and traced the edges of Jon's forehead and temples, his fingers hot on Jon's flushed skin. He leaned forward and kissed Jon's mouth, then cupped Jon's jaw again and said, "Jon. Jon. You couldn't have done this when we were working in the same city?"

_Now_ Tom wanted to talk. Jon huffed out a breath and rolled his hips to press his cock against the mattress, but he was thinking about the question anyway, now that Tom had spoken it. "I don't know," he said aloud. "You're different than you were before I left. Maybe I am, too. I never saw you like this before."

Tom nodded, and his eyes slid away to the middle distance. He looked like he used to when they were learning to smoke cigars in the lean-to, when he had inhaled deeply and gone still holding the smoke in.

Then he looked back at Jon with a deliberate, lazy smile and ran his thumb over Jon's lower lip. "All right," he said. "It took two years apart for you to suck me off. If you stay away three years next time, will you fuck me when you come back?"

"No," Jon said, voice gone gruff, "I'll do that now."

Tom laughed. Jon hauled him in by the shoulders and they were kissing again, even more frantically than before. Jon felt drunk, almost dizzy, at the press of so much of Tom's bare skin, chest, belly, arms, legs, against his own. He hadn't been so hard since he could remember.

Tom leaned to the side, letting a rush of cold air under the blankets, and handed Jon a jar before moving onto his hands and knees. Jon kissed Tom's spine, slicked his own fingers, and pressed one into Tom's ass, more carefully than he'd done with anyone in a while. He was astonished to find his hands as steady as they were. Tom pushed back into his grip, though, hissing at Jon to come on, and when Jon had slicked his cock, his first push in went much faster and deeper than he intended. He stilled there momentarily, but the sounds that came from Tom's throat were still all encouragement. Jon began to thrust in earnest, and his mind went white-hot and silent in the onslaught of sensation.  
   


Jon woke up in the dim winter dawn to find Tom already awake and watching him. "Morning," Tom said when Jon had blinked a few times, and he leaned over and kissed Jon firmly on the mouth.

"Morning," Jon echoed.

Tom smiled. "I am so lucky," he said. Jon smiled hesitantly back. "I'm going to make coffee," Tom added, in the same matter-of-fact tone, and he rolled out of the far side of the bed.

Jon closed his eyes and wallowed in the warmth under the blankets another few minutes before he got up as well.  
   


In the shop they picked up their work again with the plates for the second chamber, and it didn't feel much different than before, except whenever Tom raised his goggles and met Jon's eyes across the room. At dinnertime Jon caught Tom by the elbow and kissed him just before they went out the door. Tom gave him that slow, curling smile again, and Jon was afraid his own face must look equally satisfied and smug.  
   


That night, after they had washed the supper dishes, Tom pushed Jon onto the bed and swallowed his cock down so fast that Jon hardly knew what Tom was about before he was coming. In return Jon laid Tom out on the mattress and kissed his thighs, rubbed his calves, nosed at his hipbones, and licked up and down the sides of his cock for as long as he thought Tom could stand it before finally beginning to suck him.  
   


"So I thought I would use a ridge gear instead," Siska said, "but Michael told me he had tried it once, and - Walker, are you even listening anymore?"

"Yes," Jon said. "You, uh, you switched gears."

"Right," Siska said, shaking his head. "You're completely distracted today. What's on your mind?"

"Oh - nothing," Jon said. "I just, well, you know I'm doing a little work with Tom while I'm here. I was just thinking about his project. Sorry."

"Ah," Siska said. "I... haven't spoken to him in a while. How is he?"

"He seems to be doing pretty well," Jon said.

"Good," Siska said. "I'm glad."

"By the way," Jon said into the pause that followed, "I don't suppose you have any news for me?"

"Butcher!" Siska called into the other room. "The lapin gear?"

"Not yet," Butcher called back.

"I'm sorry," Siska said.

"It's fine, don't worry," Jon said. "I'll just come by next week, then." Siska pressed his lips together tightly and nodded.  
   


Tom declared another holiday when they finished the second chamber. The day was cloudy enough to be a little warmer, and the air was almost gentle on their faces when they set out. The wind was harsher at the shore, of course, but they kept warm by racing each other from pier to pier and kicking at the patches of ice on the sand.

Afterwards they went into a bar and drank so much whiskey that it took Tom six tries to get the door unlocked on their return. They both fell asleep in their clothes, arms thrown over each other's waists, without having so much as kissed.  
   


A letter arrived from van Vleet describing all the contacts he had made so far in the east, as well as all the meals his family had made him eat and all the girls he had danced with at the socials. Tom wrote back telling van Vleet about the various people he had interviewed and everything he and Jon had built so far. Jon drew a sketch of the completed chambers for Tom to put into the letter, and then he drew another copy for Tom to keep. Tom made Jon sign it like a painting and pinned it to the center of the wall above the drafting tables with four brass tacks.  
   


Tom had been working on the new plates with such vigor all afternoon that it took Jon a few minutes to notice there was hammering coming not just from the anvil, but from the door. He went over and opened it, and Siska burst through.

"Close the door, quick!" Siska hissed, and Jon did. "Did you see anyone following me?"

Jon squinted through the slats of the shutters. "No," he said.

"Thank goodness," Siska said. He put a hand to his chest and tried to catch his breath. Tom set his hammer down and came forward.

"Sisky," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing you this," Siska said. He unbuttoned his coat, reached into the inner pocket, and drew out a small, flat package wrapped in oilcloth. He held it out, and after Tom raised an eyebrow, Jon stepped forward and took it.

"What's this?" Jon said quietly, although he already knew.

"They've had it the whole time," Siska said. "A package of them arrived in town the week before you did. And I just couldn't stand... they would have given it to you eventually, I think. The trade you offered was too good not to. They just wanted to keep you and Ross waiting as long as they could, to make you cool your heels here, and, and - and squirm. And it wasn't right."

Jon nodded. "Thank you," he said.

Siska nodded back. Then he took a breath and turned to face Tom. "I miss you," he said.

Tom's face creased up into a bittersweet smile. He opened his arms, and Siska stepped into them and wrapped his own arms around Tom's waist.

When they let go of each other, Tom offered Siska coffee. Jon brewed it over the fire in Tom's funnily-angled pot, and all three of them sat down to tell bits and pieces about the work they'd been doing. Tom's smile never quite lost its edge, but he looked comfortable enough, leaning back against the wall and laughing at Siska's stories of unexpected reactions and minor explosions. So Jon let himself relax too - enough that the renewed pounding at the door made him jump off the bench.

"That's them," Tom said after one frozen moment. "Go, Sisky - get up into the hay! And take that damn cup with you!"

Siska ran to the ladder, climbing awkwardly with the cup clutched in his hand. Tom went to the window next to the door and tilted a slat of the shutter to peer through. "Here we go," he said. He glanced up to make sure Siska was out of sight behind the hay bales and then threw the bolts and opened the door.

"Hello, Conrad," Beckett said. "May we come in?"

Tom stepped silently to the side and swept his hand back to wave them in.

Beckett stalked into the center of the room, just opposite Tom's workbench, and Carden slouched in after him. Tom and Beckett stared each other down, Carden studied everything else in the shop except Tom, and Jon kept glancing back and forth among all three of them while trying avoid looking up in the direction of the hay.

"What can I do for you?" Tom said eventually.

"We came to see Walker, actually," Beckett said. Tom let out a short huff of breath but pressed his lips shut on any other answer he might have made.

Jon cleared his throat. "What can _I_ do for you, then?"

"It's about that gear you wanted. The lapin gear."

"Oh, yes?" Jon said.

"Well, it's a funny thing," Beckett said. "The gear arrived this morning, a special international parcel. I unpacked it myself and immediately set it aside for you. Then I was obliged to attend to other business in town for some hours. And when I returned in the afternoon, the gear was missing."

"Missing," Jon said. "How very odd."

"That," said Carden, "is what we thought."

"So we wanted to come and tell you," Beckett continued. "We felt it would be only fair to let you know that it's out of our power to deliver it to you, due to this... accident... of its disappearance. We are sorry to have to disappoint you, and Ross, over an item of such high value, so difficult to come by anywhere else, which we had gone to great pains to obtain for you, and which must undoubtedly be central to Ross's plans."

After this speech another silence fell.

Jon looked at Tom, who gave him a small, sardonic smile.

"Well, I appreciate that," Jon said. "I had no idea the gear had arrived in the country at all; that's good news, at any rate. I'm sure if it got lost just this morning, if it fell and rolled behind something perhaps, or was inadvertently carried away, or whatever might have happened, it can't have gone far. Now, as it happens I unfortunately can't stay in town much longer. I'm going to need to return to Nevada soon. So why don't I leave you the payment, to reserve the gear for us, and when it... turns up again, you can simply send it on to us there."

Beckett stared at Jon coldly. Jon tried to keep his face steady as he stared back.

"Fine," Beckett said.

Jon crossed the room to where he'd left his satchel, twitching at the necessity of turning his back on the group behind him. He fetched out the second envelope and brought it back to Beckett.

Beckett opened it gently and slid out the small sheaf of papers. Carden moved closer to be able to look over his shoulder. Jon caught sight of the corners of some of the sketches as Beckett and Carden looked through the whole set of plans in that famous angular script.

"It's complete," Carden said finally.

"Very well," Beckett said. "Walker, you may expect a shipment from us whenever the gear is back in our hands."

"We'll look forward to it."

Beckett gave one short nod. "Goodbye, then, for this visit. Do come back soon and let us know how you're getting along."

"Certainly," Jon said. "Goodbye."

Carden inclined his head and turned towards the door. Beckett spent some moments tucking the envelope carefully into his breast pocket and resettling his jacket and coat before following. He threw Jon and Tom each one more look before going out, but didn't say anything more. The latch of the door fell shut behind him with a heavy click.

Jon and Tom looked at each other incredulously. Jon sat down on a bench. Tom went back to the coffeepot and poured himself a new cup with a not entirely steady hand.

Just as he finished, there was another knock and the door swung open again to let Carden back in.

"Now look-" Tom began, but Carden shook his head and waved Tom off.

"Sisky!" he called out. "Do you want to walk back across town? Or do you want to ride with me?"

For a moment there was silence. Jon tensed his knees to stand up, but Tom laid a restraining hand on Jon's shoulder and Jon stayed where he was. Then Siska stood up and peered over the top rail, brushing bits of hay off his sleeves. "Ride with you," he said.

"Better hurry, then," Carden said. Siska brushed rather ineffectually at his trousers and began climbing down the ladder.

When Siska arrived next to him, Carden reached over and rested his palm on Siska's back. The lines of Carden's mouth had softened considerably, and the gaze that Siska turned up to him made Jon almost embarrassed to be watching.

After a minute Carden looked away and turned to address Jon. "It was good to see you, Walker," he said. "Don't think you need an excuse to visit us."

"Certainly," Jon said. Then Carden looked past him to where Tom was standing.

"Tom," Carden said, and Jon felt Tom's hand tighten on his shoulder. Carden paused for the space of another breath, looking at the two of them, and then said, "Good luck with your work."

"Thank you, Mike," Tom said.

They watched each other silently a few moments longer.

Finally Carden turned back to Siska, letting his hand drop to Siska's waist. "Come on," he said, "we need to get back."

Siska nodded. He lifted his hand in a wave to Jon and Tom, and then the two of them made their way out. Jon and Tom kept watching until the door fell shut behind them.

"Well!" Tom said. He sat down heavily on the bench next to Jon.

"Indeed," Jon said.

Tom leaned his head against Jon's. Jon spread his palm out over Tom's thigh.

After some minutes Tom picked up his coffee cup, sipped from it, and passed the cup to Jon. Jon took a swallow too and gave it back. Tom straightened up on the bench then to drink the rest of the cup properly.

Jon pulled the little oilcloth package out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands.

"What's - oh," Tom said.

Jon nodded, still twisting the package back and forth.

"Well, let's see it," Tom said.

"All right," Jon said.

He laid it on the nearest table, picked apart the knots of the twine that secured it, and unfolded the cloth gently. Inside was a small paper sack, and inside that was a layer of soft red felt. When Jon turned back the felt, the gear lay there before them, the bright light from above gleaming on its intricate cogs.

"Pretty," Tom said. "I hope you and Ross put it to good use."

"I think so," Jon said. "We'll try, anyway."

Tom stretched each of his arms out to the side in turn and then both above his head. "Let's call it a day," he said. "I don't think I'm likely to get any more work done."

"Sure," Jon said.  
   


They went back to Tom's rooms and fixed and ate supper without needing to say much more. After supper they went to bed and fucked slowly, till the sweat dripped from Jon's forehead onto Tom's shoulder blades.

"So lucky," Tom hissed into the pillow. Jon dipped his head and licked the salt taste off Tom's back again.  
   


Tom lay with his head on Jon's chest, looking across to the window that was just beginning to be touched by light. Tom's hair was thick and coarse to the touch. Jon sifted his fingers through it bit by bit till he reached the ends, and then pushed back in near the roots and began again.

"When are you going to be setting out?" Tom said.

Jon cleared his throat. "Ryan told me to stay as long as it took to get the gear," he said. "But they're basically just waiting for me now."

"I figured," Tom said.

"The next train with the right connections is on Saturday."

Tom nodded. "I wish you a smooth journey," he said. "And don't think you have to wait two more years to visit again."

Jon took a breath. "I won't," he said. "Also, you know, you could come to Nevada sometime. You might like it in the desert."

Tom leaned up on his elbow and pressed his lips to Jon's. "I might," he said. Jon put his hands on Tom's shoulders and kissed him again, and again.  
   


When Jon stepped up into the train, the car was so thronged with passengers and bags that it took him a good minute to find his compartment and get to the window. He knocked on the glass to show Tom where he was, and Tom grinned when their eyes met. Tom kept waiting on the platform with his hands in his pockets till the whistle blew, the engine huffed, and the wheels began clacking along the rails. Then he lifted one hand and waved, still smiling. Jon turned around in his seat and waved back through the window as long as Tom was in sight.

When the station disappeared behind them, Jon sat down the proper way and closed his eyes. He pressed his lips together hard and let the train's machinery carry him forward.


End file.
